


Twinkle, Twinkle

by Just_Jesting



Category: Forgotten Realms
Genre: ... but not quite!, ... well... maybe., ALL THE SILLY!, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Fluff and Crack, Gen, The Author Regrets Nothing, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 17:38:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1613624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Jesting/pseuds/Just_Jesting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted at ff.net long, long ago. Now, shared here, as well. Slow transitions, for the win. </p><p>Summary from there: </p><p>  <i>How many of us haven't snickered once or twice reading through Salvatore's dark elf books? But, the real question is, how would his friends have reacted to the 'not-so-intimidating' name for such a deadly blade... </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Twinkle, Twinkle

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Halfling's Gem through (technically) just the first tiny bit of Passage to Dawn. It's all in good fun, though!

Wulfgar blew a sigh of relief upon leaving the intimidating home of Malchor Harpell. The wizard may not have been as insane as his Longsaddle kin, but that didn't mean that the magic shy barbarian had to be comfortable near him! He half expected Drizzt to chide him, or at least chuckle, about that sigh, but strangely, the drow was silent. He turned to face his companion, worry writ large on his broad features.

"Drizzt?"

The drow shook his head, startled out of his contemplations. "What?" he asked suspiciously, looking at the concerned barbarian.

"Is everything... well... with you?"

"Yes, I'm just fine," the drow said softly looking Wulfgar straight in the face. Then, he returned to contemplating the beautifully balanced blade now resting in his formerly empty sheath, his hands lightly tracing the intricate design on the pommel. His white eyebrows twitched slightly while he looked down at the blade.

"It's a beautiful weapon," the young man said softly, "and if anyone deserves such a blade, it is yourself." The drow just snorted softly. "But," Wulfgar continued, "I have to wonder why it's called 'Twinkle' of all things. If Bruenor—" his voice broke off suddenly—"If Bruenor was here, he'd never let you live it down."

"Aye, don't we know it," the drow replied, voice low. Silence descended between the pair in respect for their lost friend who had bravely descended to his doom on the back of the dread black dragon Shimmergloom.

"Maybe the craftsman wanted to help the warrior out by lulling enemies into a false sense of security," the young barbarian finally stated.

"Or, he knocked his head right before naming it," the drow responded.

"Or, he lost a bet!"

"Or he was really, really drunk."

The two laughed a little at the ridiculous bent in their conversation. The laughter fast diminished into the solemn quiet of the night.

"You know," Wulfgar started again, uneasy with the quiet, "I've been considering marriage, having children..."

"I've noticed," the drow snorted. He wasn't completely blind to the obvious affection Bruenor's two adopted children held towards one another.

"You know, little children don't always say things correctly..." Wulfgar continued hesitantly.

"If you're apologizing ahead of time for them mutilating my name, you don't need to. The ability of human children to pronounce my name properly was the last thing on my mother's mind."

"No, it isn't that. It's your blades."

The drow looked at him quizzically.

"How well do you think you can handle wielding 'Icy' and 'Twinky'?" the barbarian asked lightly.

"About as well as you'll take carrying 'Ageez-toofs' I suppose," Drizzt bantered back. Again, the two laughed.

"You know, I wonder how many times you're going to have this conversation," the young man pondered. "Not the one about children, the one about the blade."

"Well, I suppose this was number one," Drizzt replied, even though no response was truly needed.

The fierce duo smiled and pushed their horses into a fast trot to Conyberry.

xxx

Artemis Enteri looked down at his pudgy halfling frame disgustedly. 'The things I do to complete my commission,' he thought sarcastically. The assassin knew the halfling's friends were growing concerned, and the drow was getting suspicious. It was only to be expected. After all, what in the nine hells was he supposed to know about planning a damned wedding! Although, on reflection, maybe he should have kept his sarcasm at the recent battle to himself. Regis keeping up with Drizzt? Regis suggesting he could have 'accidentally'  _killed_  Drizzt? A hill giant could have figured  _that_  was out of character, and hill giants aren't known for feats of high intelligence.

The assassin was doing his best to avoid all of the companions ever since – with the exception of Wulfgar's sessions with the ruby gem. Unfortunately the damned drow was a stubborn one.

"Regis?" Enteri spun to face the drow. ' _Think of the devil..._ '

"Yes?" he responded, plastering on his best dimpled smile for the ranger.

"Are you well?" the drow inquired. "You seem tense... as if something is bothering you."

"Of course I'm tense! I've got an annoyed and deranged dwarf breathing down my neck over his children's wedding!" the assassin blustered, hoping it was convincing. The drow's face stayed unhelpfully blank.

"Usually, it's the groom and bride who are supposed to get the wedding jitters, not the halfling," the drow commented dryly, his private suspicious not the least allayed.

"I've been meaning to ask you, but between the assassin, the ratmen, and the pack of Guenhwyvar's there was never enough time. Is that a new blade? The assassin asked, desperate to change the subject. The ranger wasn't fooled, and gave 'Regis' a glance that said this subject wasn't forgotten and promised the current discussion would be continued.

After allowing the halfling to shift uneasily under his stare, Drizzt went along with the change in subject. "Yes," he replied, "It was a gift from Malchor when Wulfgar and I went to him for aid in your recovery."

"Ah, so  _he's_ where you got the mask?"

"No, the mask was from the banshee."

"Oh," Enteri stated. "Does it have a name?"

The assassin was startled when he saw Drizzt shift uneasily at that line of questioning. "The banshee? Agatha."

Enteri smirked evilly, only half hoping that it would successfully pass off as friendly ribbing. "No, not the banshee! Although, who would name a banshee Agatha?" He paused, letting Drizzt hope that the line of questioning would be abandoned. When the drow relaxed slightly, the human disguised as a halfling pounced! "So, what  _is_ the blade named?"

Drizzt stiffened, and mumbled a response under his breath. Enteri wasn't sure, but he thought it sounded... no, that was too ridiculous.

"What? I couldn't hear you?"

"Twinkle," the drow stated loudly and clearly.

The assassin let out a startled laugh, "Twinkle?"

"Aye, Twinkle."

" _Twinkle?_ "

"Regis, do you  _want_ Guen to use you as a pillow for the next decade? Besides, it was a long dead elvish weapon-smith's idea, not mine."

"So, you're going to yell, 'Fear the wrath of Twinkle' and kill them while they're laughing?"

The drow eyed the hysterical halfling closely. "I'm starting to like that plan..."

Enteri quickly, and prudently, took a few steps away from the annoyed elf. The elf just sighed, "I'm starting to think the craftsman was vexed by a swordsman and wanted to punish him and all his successors by creating a glorious weapon—with a ridiculously 'cute' name."

"Twinkle," the halfling chuckled, slipping past the vexed drow.

"Aye, Twinkle," the drow said softly. Looking at Regis's retreating back, he sighed again. "Two."

xxx

Bruenor huffed uncertainly, although if anyone else had accused him of that mindset, he would have vehemently denied it. Somehow, his blasted daughter had gotten him to agree to start this conversation. It was one that had to happen, eventually, and he knew it. That didn't make this any less awkward, or any more entertaining. He glared sideways at the treacherous halfling and his daughter. Although he wouldn't say it around Garumn, the once and future king was convinced that going to Menzoberranzan with the fleeing drow just might be safer than, well, saying what needed to be said.

He cleared his throat and looked straight at the drow relaxing in the shade of the entrance to Mithril Hall. "Drow, I know we be'n, well, I was, pressurin' you to name that Icing-what-not blade o' yer's, and it's right for a blade to have a proper name," the dwarf blurted. "But, but  _Twinkle?_ " the dwarf continued incredulously. "It ain't right! How d' yah expect a dwarf to maintain a sense of dignity with both a durned twinkly elf and a durn twinkly sword t' boot?"

Drizzt leaned back against the rocky wall with a loud sigh. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if any blade, even one so beautifully balanced as Twinkle, was worth having this conversation so many times. "I swear that, for once, it isn't my fault," the drow replied wearily, glancing at his two close friends and the eavesdropping Pwent hiding not-so-subtly in the entryway. "According to Malchor, the sword was named by it's creator long ago, much as Taulmaril was. I'm just the current recipient of that long ago smith's sense of humor." He leaned back again.

"But,  _Twinkle_?" the dwarf groaned. "We're bound to have all the goblinkin between here and the Moonshae's keelin' over laughin'! Tain't no fun if their dead before the fightin' even starts," the dwarf complained, though at this point it was more to poke at Drizzt than to argue the name. Once a blade's been named, it's named: especially if the one who named it forged it.

"Well, on the bright side, next time we meet a giant yeh won' have to worry 'bout being tall enough to chop it's neck," Cattie-brie interjected. The young woman then walked over to Drizzt and gave the long-suffering drow's shoulder a gentle squeeze before brushing past a startled (and squeaky) Pwent and re-entering the mines. Now that her curiosity was satisfied, she wanted to get back to packing. She hadn't broken it to Bruenor yet, but it was time to leave the mines. With the drow army, and Wulfgar... they just didn't feel quite so much like home. Regis, as quietly as only a halfling (and maybe an elf) could, padded off after her.

Bruenor watched his allies in this conversation leave, and quickly fled the scene himself, muttering about 'important dwarf business for the king'. Only, when he brushed past Pwent, he didn't just brush past. Grabbing the battle-rager by the helmet spike, the red-beard pulled Pwent along. In the shrieking cacophony of poorly oiled armor, Drizzt picked out the words 'Gut-Buster,' 'door,' 'training,' 'ever,' 'catch,' and 'again.'

The drow sighed, "Three."

xxx

For the first time in the last month, the sea was calm sailing out of Waterdeep. Drizzt stood at the railing, feeling the soft ocean breeze that so gently ruffled the waves. For the moment, both he and Cattie-brie were 'off-duty' on the pirate hunter, Cattie-brie having descended from the crow's nest just a few minutes prior. Hearing two sets of loud footsteps and one soft set, he turned idly, brushing a lock of white hair behind a pointed ear.

"Drizzt, there's something we need to discuss quickly," the head of the trio announced. The drow looked closely at the captain, the ship's wizard – the surly Robillard, and his close friend. From the twinkle and smirk Cattie-brie had acquired, the seriousness of Deudermont's visage, and the strange 'cat-with-cream-and-a-canary-feather' expression on even the grouchy wizard's face, Drizzt had a lurking suspicion that this conversation might not be the most pleasant.

Still eying them suspiciously, the drow voiced his suspicion, "Does this perhaps concern Pinochet?" Cattie-brie's smirk grew. Drizzt idly wondered if it were possible for it to take her ears. More worrying, Robillard was starting to look downright predatory, and even the good captains straight face was cracking into a... was that a smile? The goodly drow's unease grew.

"No, nothing like that," the captain replied. "Our discusiion is a little more—" the captain paused, searching for a suitable word—"close to you than the good pirate." Deudermont's eyes flicked down to the scimitar's on Drizzt's belt before fixing on Drizzt's face.

The drow's visage twisted in pained comprehension.

"Drizzt... _Twinkle?"_

He groaned, "Not again," as Cattie-brie and Robillard collapsed into silent laughter. Ever the helpful soul, Cattie-brie raised one hand, thumb folded in, and mouthed "Four."

xxx

On a higher plane, two beings watched all of these proceedings. Once upon a time – a quite significant length of time, in fact – both had been elves. One of them had once been a smith. More specifically, had once been a smith who lost a bet. The other presence had been the tribes foremost troublemaker and the one who created the terms for that specific bet... and a multitude of others.

Said the second to the first: "Never gets old, does it?"

In reply, the smith responded, "No. That has to be the best bet I ever lost. Although, I don't think I'll ever live down naming my finest creation after that abominable song."

"Abominable?  _Abominable?_  You cut me to the quick!" the mischievous one responded. "I'll have you know I worked long and hard on that! Besides, your embarrassment was nothing. Look at the poor sot's face! He and all the others probably will die convinced that you were plotting this just to torment them and their successors."

"I'll make sure they know who to thank, then," the smith responded drily, "for their poor souls being taunted for childishness... or worse. At least this one's lucky enough to be closely associated with that auburn-headed female. If the sword were in the hands of that assassin, now—"

The second shuddered theatrically, "Poor, poor soul. If people doubt the drow, they'd be convinced..."

The first snorted, "Poor soul indeed."

A brief silence fell upon the two as they continued to watch the proceedings below. Finally, the second left, no doubt to bother some other poor craftsman who lost another embarrassing 'naming' bet. The first watched him go, smiling. Then, the smith began to hum softly: "Twinkle, twinkle little star. How I wonder what you are..."

As to the content of that long ago bet, reader, history has lost it well. If the two even remember what the required procedure or outcome was, they certainly aren't telling. So, we'll leave that for you to guess.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline notes for scenes, in order: 
> 
> Wulfgar: Halfling's Gem, post Chapter 1  
> Regis (... I mean, Enteri): The Legacy, mid Chapter 6, but anywhere in the second part would do  
> Bruenor, Catti-brie, REAL Regis, and... Pwent. Accidentally, of course: End of Siege of Darkness, but before epilogue  
> Robilard, et al.: Early Passage to Dawn. 
> 
> Last scene, whenever they darned well felt like it! Goofy, long-dead elves, causing trouble...
> 
> I may eventually stick in a tag for Guen, but I figured she'd have already known. Guen knows everything. Seriously, the Legacy would have ended in Regis's very first scene with Guen around, if anyone actually listened to the poor dear.


End file.
